It took some time to move what they needed but in the end they’d been able to set up a pretty respectable base.
Up until then Ileta had been a relatively silent companion. She’d accepted Madigan’s lead, seeming to default to him on “Casc matters,” as she put it. But once their training site was set up, her demeanor changed completely. Throughout the beginning of their training, there had been a constant mutual frustration; she was disappointed by his lack of skill with Shadow, and he was disappointed by her lack of compassion and her secretive nature. When he pressed her for more information on who she was and where she’d come from, finally, she’d smirked and shaken her head.
“I serve one who bears great interest in you, Madigan Davis, one who would see you trained to your full potential. Trust me, it will all work out for the best.”
“That’s quite a leap of faith you’re asking.”
“It will all be worth it,” she said with a sly grin. “In the end.”
That had hardly created unyielding trust. Arguing had achieved nothing; she’d established herself as the dominant party almost immediately. So, Mad begrudgingly learned to follow. But, goddam was she talented, incredibly well versed when it came to the capabilities of Shadowborne. Beyond the simple manipulation of a Shade that Mad had grown accustomed to and seen Will use, Ileta demonstrated abilities he’d never even imagined.
When they sparred, her skills with her noctori were dazzling. She could reform blades faster than his eye could catch. Whereas Madigan trained constantly with a bastard sword, she used every manner of weapon that came to her mind, switching between them in an instant. It kept him off balance. He had grown accustomed to fighting Will and his Shade, but Ileta was something different entirely. She changed weapons both on offense and on defense faster than Madigan could adjust.
He loved it.
Ileta also had knowledge of things that both the Crow and Cephora had scoffed at. She’d told him how at no point had she ever believed that Valmont was dead and that she’d always considered the man to be simply biding his time. When he told her of din’Dael’s release from the Shale and the man’s destructive madness, she’d rolled her eyes and asked him what he’d expected.
Although he had no proof, Mad assumed her knowledge came directly from whomever it was she served. But all she would ever allow him regarding the hidden master’s interest in him was that it was more than just his ability as a Shadowborne. That it stemmed from the fact that somehow Madigan had lured Valmont from whatever hole he had been hiding in and survived to tell of it. She would not, however, say how her master came by the information.
At first, Ileta questioned him at length. His account of the brief confrontation with the sorcerer hadn’t stirred her in the slightest, although she commended him for standing his ground against ‘the one known as Bloodborne.’ Whether it was bravery or foolishness (she seemed to believe the latter), she found the sheer impudence (Mad now thought it to be more ineptitude) impressive. She lauded that he struck a blow, even though the strike failed.
That conversation had led him to a deeper understanding of the power of Shadow, this time regarding the noctori. In his brief introductory lesson from his grandfather, all Mad knew of the weapon was that it was Shadow magic and could change shape. Ileta laughed so hard when he told her that, Mad’s face had turned beet red. Eventually, she explained the noctori’s strength. More than being a blade formed from Shadow, it could be empowered by Shadow—by his Shade. He could lend it strength, pouring the darkness into it. Valmont had simply done the opposite when Mad struck, sucking all energy from the blade.
The knowledge that he could have empowered his blade against Valmont hit Mad like a ton of bricks. What if he had known that before? Sure, there was no guarantee that the blade would have had the strength to counteract Valmont entirely, but what if it had been? What if he’d been able to strike the man down, then and there? That question of ‘what if’ had never left him, had plagued his mind and led to countless sleepless nights. He’d hounded Ileta with questions, wondering at the number and size of the gaps in his learning. She, in turn, had humored him with her knowledge.
Madigan traced his fingers in the snow. Yes, Ileta was knowledgeable, very much so. She was also more dangerous than she let on. She was cool and controlled and powerful. In the same fashion that their Shades poured from their bodies in a cloud, she seemed to be surrounded by an aura of captivating danger. Even to this day, it was difficult to meet her eye and not feel pierced. Ileta gave him pause.
He still didn’t know what to make of that. He did know that he was progressing, whatever that meant. He knew that his skill had quickly surpassed whatever his brother’s had ever been, but it was still nowhere near Ileta’s. Three years here, and I still struggle to keep up.
He needed more. He needed to achieve her level of mastery. If there was a subtly hidden aspect of the Shade, he needed to discover every bit of it.
I need to be the best. I need to come at this from every angle.
His thoughts turned to Will and all the years he’d spent hiding who he was. Never being able to fully explore something so intrinsic and personal? That sounded like absolute hell. Mad’s Shade was as much a part of him as a limb. Knowing that it existed within him but being unable to access it would have been like being forced to use crutches when both legs worked fine. He would constantly be wanting to just lower the leg and use it, never fully understanding why the world told him he couldn’t.
He frowned and ran cool, wet hands through his hair. He had been complicit in Will’s suppression. He had forced his brother to diminish himself, something that Madigan couldn’t imagine doing to himself, now. That Will had complied and had continued to comply for so long, despite whatever circumstances arose, was a testament to the kid’s strength.
Then it was ripped away from him.
Jero din-goddam-Dael. Damn that Lightborne. Who knows what that bastard did to Will?
In the silence of the cold morning, a depressing hopelessness clawed at him. He tried to keep an open mind, to stay optimistic. But Madigan mourned for his brother. Whatever he told himself, he truly did not know if Will was still alive. He hoped he was alive, wanted him to be alive, but he did not know. It gnawed at him that despite memories of years of happy times with Will, the most vivid one was the terrified look on his brother’s face when Cephora tore them apart. He desperately wanted Will to be alive, wanted new memories to push aside that look of surprise and fear, but . . . It doesn’t look good. The only thing he had to go on, to fight the depression, was hope itself.
That’s not a whole goddam lot to go on.
Madigan hated the plague of questions and uncertainty. Did Will get away from Valmont? Did he undo din’Dael’s actions? A part of Mad knew he might never know what happened that day, what happened to his brother. His heart wrenched at the thought.
The sky was just lightening when a sound from Ileta’s tent pulled him from his melancholic thoughts. He exhaled slowly and rose to his feet, the chill from the morning filling the hollowness inside him. The flap of the tent opened and Ileta stepped out. She raised an eyebrow at him and snickered, shaking her head.
“You should have been sleeping. You need your rest.”
Madigan cracked his neck and stretched before shaking his legs to loosen his knees. “I’ve rested long enough.”
Ileta smiled at him. “We shall see about that.”
She took off running and Madigan followed, navigating Jervin’s old trail along the levee without thinking. He glanced over at the scorched patch of earth well beyond their camp where his home once stood. A comforting determination settled in his breast.
Yes, I’ve rested long enough. It’s time to get back into the world. Time to get answers.
18
Aurellaine
“You want to take me where, exactly?” Morella eyed Noctis sidelong, her expression somewhere between amusement and irritation.
The Street was busier than he had seen it in
some time. Clarice handed him two drinks the moment she saw him and gestured up to the balcony. Morella’s pale skin caught the lamplight and he steeled himself. He climbed the stairs, expecting a chilly reception, but he hardly set foot in their room before she threw herself at him. The greeting had been far better than he’d anticipated, capped off by two additional Bottled Embers that Clarice set outside their door. All in all, not a bad morning.
“Home,” he answered. “Portland. Well, Cascania,” he followed up quickly, “but Portland specifically.”
“Portland?” Morella raised an eyebrow. “What, is it on the sea?”
A smile tugged at Noctis’s mouth. “A river,” he said. “Two, actually. But they lead to a larger body of water, yes.”
She sipped at her drink and walked to the balcony. She still hadn’t bothered dressing, but Noctis was growing accustomed to it. Plus, the majority of the patrons never thought to look up. “And you think your brother is there with Aurellaine Valmont?”
Noctis hesitated before nodding. “I believe he is there with a Shadowborne.” He took a drink, letting the rejuvenating warmth flow down his throat. “Others believe it is Aurellaine. I have no idea who Aurellaine is.”
She snickered. “That is an easy enough education if you wish to hear it.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “I thought you said you didn’t know much about her.”
“I don’t. But I suppose I know more than the average person.” She gave him a sultry gaze and pressed her body against his, tilting her head so their lips were nearly touching. “And I definitely know more than a foolish Casc.”
Noctis smiled and leaned down to kiss her, but she pulled back and wagged a playful finger at him. “Tut tut, Mr. Thorne. Here I thought you were in the mood for a history lesson.”
“I’m in the mood for many things, Ms. Darklore.”
She laughed and kissed him, then drew back and drank. “Well, one thing at a time. Aurellaine Valmont, then. You want to know what I know?”
“I do.” He reached for her hand. “I need to know what I’m going up against.”
“What we are going up against.” She gave a wry smile and squeezed his hand. Despite the early hour, she turned and waved to Clarice for another round of Bottled Embers. She sipped at the glass in her hand and then stared up at the floating lanterns, her face a mask.
After Noctis intercepted Clarice and returned bearing the drinks, he found Morella wrapped in a shawl on one of the lounging chairs on the balcony. She did not meet his eye.
“I don’t have my notes anymore,” she said, “but I never bothered to write much about Valmont’s daughter. My research was focused on the Relics.”
Noctis felt a pang of regret. He still had not shared the entirety of his experiences in the Sapholux, the education he received under din’Dael. We both have things we’re keeping from each other, he thought as he took a sip and eyed Morella. “I know,” he said. “Just, anything you have.”
“Aurellaine Valmont.” She sighed deeply. “Rumors say she was brought into this world wrapped in her Shade. Just rumors, surely, but they underscore her power. She was Borne since she was born, apparently, something that is almost unheard of. She was Valmont’s blood but was born after he’d been captured, during the Sundering, supposedly. As a child, she never met the man.”
Noctis watched and waited as Morella paused. Already, he had questions he forced himself to hold back. Just let her do this her way. He sipped at his drink and sat patiently.
“The timelines are messy, though. Supposedly she was raised in Umbriferum, guided by Maruq T’Aroth, but that goes against the birth during the Sundering.” She shook her head and drank. “Whatever story you hear, one thing was constant. She was as skilled a Shadowborne as any who ever lived. So they say. Her father’s daughter. Secretive and duplicitous. A master of disguise. The Umbriferum supposedly used her skills for their more”—Morella gazed around the room—“uncouth operations. Again, no one really knows.”
“She was an assassin?”
The hint of a smile tugged at Morella’s mouth. “Something like that. Infiltration, assassinations. For every great act of Umbriferum there are countless horrors kept hidden.” She drank again. “Aurellaine, though, she never knew anything else. A trained weapon, guided by Shadow. Supposedly, she didn’t even know that she was Valmont’s daughter. Everyone else in the Order did, but not her.”
“Is that why she betrayed them?” Noctis burst out. Morella shot him an impatient glare and he clamped his mouth shut. “Sorry, go on.”
“The Umbriferum used her. The entire Order was complicit. Like I said, they have their own dark history. Everyone does.” She took another drink and tugged at the shawl around her, seeming to retreat deeper into the chair. “Of course, she’d heard the stories of Valmont, how could she not? It was only a matter of time until she found out her own truth.
“When she did, well, no one really knows what happened next. A confrontation, most likely. One that resulted in her being excommunicated from all she’d ever known, I suppose. Except that someone like that out in the world, uncontrolled? Umbriferum couldn’t have it. So, they tried to kill her.”
She was staring at the lanterns now, seemingly no longer aware of Noctis. He watched as her face became a blank mask, the dancing lights casting swirls of red along the canvas.
“She fought back, of course. Won. That was around the time rumors of Valmont began to swirl again. Stories say that she sought him out, feigned joining his ranks, and tried to kill him. Blood fangs to the heart and a nice fall into oblivion. Everyone thought she succeeded. Probably did it to try and get back into the good graces of the Umbriferum. It didn’t work. She snapped. Killed them all.”
Morella’s eyes regained their focus and fell into the swirling colors of her drink. “After that, no one knows. Lost to the winds, it would seem.”
Despite what he had heard, Noctis felt a pang of sympathy for Aurellaine. Why is everything a tragedy here? Are there no happy endings? There had to be. His grandfather had known the goodness of this world, had seen something in it that made him want his boys to come here. Or was he just like me? Did he just want there to be goodness here and thought we could help?
Morella was staring at him, her face searching his with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. He realized that he had not yet spoken.
“If she tried to kill her father, why did she then turn and become an agent of his? Doing his work after she thought him dead?”
Morella considered a moment before answering. “No one except for her could know for sure, but people have their opinions.”
“Why, do you think?”
She laughed, bawdy and lovely, and the tension in his chest released at the sound. “I’m a historian. I try to stay objective.”
“Surely, though, you’ve got some idea?”
She paused a moment, staring at him. “I think she did it to save him,” she said finally. “I know that sounds absurd, but think about it. Valmont was being hunted by every power that Aeril could throw at him. The Hesperawn themselves sought him. What better way to escape than to be dead?”
“You’re saying it was staged?”
She shrugged. “I’m saying that Valmont spent years trying to prove that he was equal to the Hesperawn, that anyone could be. A public display of his supposed death and subsequent survival would definitely challenge the notion of simple mortality. So, do I think it was staged? No. I think Aurellaine stabbed her father through the heart and threw him from the mountain. I just don’t think that the blade or the fall could have killed him.”
“The landing is what would have killed him,” Noctis said with a wink. When Morella frowned in confusion, he explained. “The fall isn’t what would have killed him. The landing at the end of the fall would have.” She continued to stare at him without responding. “It’s a joke.”
“I see,” she said flatly.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make light of it. Please, go on.”
> “Aurellaine wouldn’t have wanted her father dead one way or another. She’d lost the Umbriferum and the Borne and herself. Then she’d discovered some long-dead trace of her family still existed. She wanted something good in her life, and everyone wants to believe their family is good, wants to see goodness in them. So, my thoughts? Whatever she did, she did it under his direction.”
Noctis paused before speaking hesitantly. “Morella, what about your family? Where did you come from?”
She didn’t meet his eye. “Like I said, lover, everyone wants to believe their family is good, regardless if all evidence points to the contrary.”
It was obviously a sensitive subject, so he steered away from it as quickly as possible. “So, Valmont orchestrated the whole thing then?” Noctis shook his head. “He put it all in motion to prove that he could cheat death.”
“More or less, yes,” Morella said, nodding. “That is my belief, at least.”
“That’s a lot to take in,” Noctis said. After a moment’s pause, he shook his head again. “Actually, it really isn’t. Valmont was clever—is clever—and if he used Aurellaine to ensure that his work would continue whether he survived or not, no one could ever be fully sure that he died.”
“Which he didn’t.” Morella smiled.
“Which he didn’t. So, what then? We can assume that Aurellaine did his work for him while he was away, right? Away doing whatever it was he was doing?” Morella nodded. “Then why did he choose to come back now? What was it about the timing? It couldn’t just be Madigan and me that drew him out.”
“No?” Morella was silent a moment as she peered at him. “Two powerful Cascs, one Shadowborne and one Lightborne, who free his greatest adversary and level an impenetrable fortress that had stood since time immemorial? You don’t think that might cause someone to come out of hiding?”
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